My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 1 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the UnionWingfield, Lewis
History
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 1 (of 3): A Chronicle of Ireland, from the Convention to the Union
Wingfield, Lewis
Historical fiction; Ireland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
The countess winced at the suggestion, and her face crimsoned. If
Government chose to establish a bureau of paid informers, who were
dubbed the Battalion of Testimony, it was no affair of hers, though
she could not approve the principle; but as to becoming one herself,
the bare idea was an audacious insult. The chancellor laughed airily
as she turned on him, for he expected some such ebullition of feeling,
and waited a little while ere he proceeded. Then, like the serpent
luring Eve, he strove to decide her with specious arguments. He showed
that, by helping to circumvent their plans, she might do signal
service against the Catholics; that both her brother and eldest son
might be made to benefit indirectly by her acts, and that nobody would
know anything of what she had done. In love and war all means are
fair. The girl had no excuse for the line she chose to take. It was
right and fitting that the lower orders should be cowed; that the
Papists should be stamped down into the serfdom from which in their
insolence they struggled to escape; that this Tone, whom people had
liked till he took up the cudgels of Antichrist, should be brought to
punishment.
These were good reasons--strong enough surely to decide my lady. If
she wanted another, let her think of Gillin and her 'Irish Slave.' It
would be strange if that hateful enemy could not be mixed in the
coming struggle, and crushed in the downfall of the conspirators. This
last stroke almost settled the resolve of the wavering countess, whose
mental mirror had been blurred by long dabbling in questionable
waters, which, rising in her husband's throat to choking, had wrung
that last cry from him before he died. It would be delightful to
discomfit Gillin. It would be odd, too, if Doreen, in the contrition
which follows upon being found out, did not throw herself on her
aunt's mercy, and joyfully do as she was told, on condition of being
saved. After meditating awhile, my lady said she would think about it;
and Lord Clare, having planted his arrow, rode back to town, satisfied
that he had gained his end.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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